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Sliding into Second Base

In the spirit of the baseball playoffs, I started thinking about hitting streaks and 0-fers, and how they relate to my own sexual history. It took me a long time to reach the majors, after college in fact, but I made up for it with enthusiasm and energy. I was no Rookie of the Year, but I had a solid first season, learned a few things, and took chances. Things were looking good, but quickly took a turn for the worse. I’ve mostly been out of the game, but every few years would somehow manage to get an at-bat, but even those rare opportunities have dried up. I still love the game, and would love to play an inning now and again, but these days I’m just a spectator. After all, who would sign up someone who hasn’t even had a base hit in the past six years?

First Base – 6 years

Second Base – 20 years

Thrown out between Second and Third Base – 9 years *

Third Base – 22 years

Home Run – 23 years

 

* a.k.a. “trying to stretch a double into a triple”

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3-2 loss to Burnley

on opening day (or

is it 2-3 because Chelsea

was the home team?

I can never remember)

with Cahill

and Fabregas both sent off

(lunging “tackle” for the captain

and sarcastic clapping and

clumsy tackle for the Spaniard)

but we came back

in the second half and made

a game of it

and it was more memorable

than the 1-0 wins against

West Brom and blah and whoever

last year

and if you don’t love football

even when your team loses a

stinker

you love it for the wrong reasons

 

[wrote this more than a year ago but the loss was too painful to post until now]

Where did you go, September?

It was right there on my to-do list: write blog post. I knew that September only has 30 days, and I needed to post something yesterday or break my string going back to 2009 of having posted something in every month, even if it was crap or recycled dreck.

But I failed.

I could have just back-dated something, which I did almost two years ago, when I hadn’t written anything for more than two months, a time when I desperately hated my job and had no inspiration for anything. Time freed up for me then when I was fired from that job and I had all the time in the world to blog (not that I wrote that much, just enough to fuel the illusion that I was a dilegent if infrequent blogger).

I could have come home earlier, instead of staying out after trivia and singing no fewer than three karaoke songs (two of which I performed credibly), and tossed off something before the clock struck midnight. But I’m trying to learn to forgive myself for the artificial pressures no one but me is putting upon myself, and maybe this rant cum confession is better than anything I could have written under a deadline.

This is a line in the sand. Hopefully from now on I’ll feel more inspiration or motivation to write regularly. September 2018 will be the mensis horibilis that marks the past off from the future. Let it stay empty, as a sign of a turning point in my creative life.

I realize this post is not at all funny and so off-brand to the purpose of this blog, so here’s my favourite joke:

A pirate walks into a bar. He has a ship’s wheel attached to his groin. The bartender asks what’ll it be and the pirate says “rum.” After a few more rounds the bartender can’t contain his curiosity and asks what’s up with the wheel. The pirate replies, “Yaarrrr, I don’t know, but it’s drivin’ me nuts!”

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